Crimson Secret
by Edenne
Summary: Rinoa unwiesly keeps her anguish to herself. More an outpouring of my own past emotions than anything else.


Crimson Secret  
  
~*~  
  
*My throat aches.*   
  
My dad hates me. But hell, I hate him too. How can I complain, then? But I hate this. I hate the way he never looks at me and how I can't look at him, and I hate trying to get through his thick fucking skull every time he talks to me. He doesn't talk to me, no, he commands me. Like I'm one of his slaves, like he's my goddamn commanding officer. I'm your daughter, can't you see it you blind fuck, your daughter for Hyne's sake. "Do this; don't do that." Blah, blah, blah. I wouldn't mind doing "this" or "that" for him, I would actually love it. I could be a "good girl" all the time. I could if I got anything at all in return. And I don't mean money, or clothes, or shit like that. I have enough already.   
  
*My knee stops bouncing as I get to my feet. I open and close my top dresser drawer, nervous, guilty. I open it again and grab the pink piece of plastic, and fall back onto my bed.*   
  
What about a pat on the back? A "Thank you"? Something other than more goddamn commands? Even a hug, I don't care, I would hate it and love it at the same time, I would probably push him away in surprise and run to my room to cry like I do every day, like I'm doing right fucking now. But I would be happy. I would feel important.   
  
*My eyes are burning. The tears are coming, and I sit up again. My fingernails pull at the thing in my hands, bending it, desperate to free the blade.*  
  
I tried a different approach with Squall. I thought that daddy didn't love me because I didn't love daddy. So I helped Squall, I did the best I could to keep him close and support him and give him all those things I never had before. Maybe if I gave enough, I would get something in return. But no, of course not, Squall's just as cold as he was the day I met him.   
  
*The plastic cracks and I pull out the two thin pieces of metal, throwing the remainder of the Bic to the floor.*  
  
He rarely looks at me even though I look at him all the time. I pay attention damnit, I hold on to all of his words, just hoping every damn second that he might grasp onto just one of mine. I don't know if he does, but if he does, he sure as hell doesn't show it to me. He doesn't show anything to me.   
  
~Do it again, do it again Rinoa, he'll never see, nobody will see, you don't have to worry. You don't need to be ashamed, you won't be ridiculed, they won't know. Cover it with blue, that's what it's for.~   
  
At the same time, I want him to see. I want my father to see, and I want Squall to see, and I want him to be sorry. I want both of them to be sorry, and to be worried, and I know it's selfish but I want it to kill them. I want that worry to tear at their hearts, rip and tear and hurt. I don't hate them. I don't hate me. I hate both.   
  
I told Squall I love him today.   
  
*There is a sharp sting on my wrist as the blade slides quickly and lightly across it. The pain dulls almost instantaneously, easy to ignore. I watch the dots of blood at they begin to appear along the shallow cut, closer to my hand than the others that are trying to heal.*  
  
I said it as a last desperate move, to get something out of him, something positive. I don't know if I really love him or not.   
  
*Ugh, and I'm so angry, I just want to scream my damn head off. I want to pound the walls until either they or my hands break. My knees are bouncing again, both of them, so much energy and nothing to do with it.*  
  
And you know what he said? I bet you can guess. Anyone could guess. I should have guessed before I said anything. That would have saved me a lot of trouble.   
  
*My hand and the blade raise to my wrist again, shaking, almost out of control.*   
  
~This is for you, Squall, this is for you you big jerk. For you, dad, my Commanding Officer that doesn't know how to care.~  
  
"Whatever." He said. "Whatever," and walked away, unfazed, uncaring. "Whatever" told me my love is worthless.   
  
*I slash faster, harder, and the pain is much greater. The blood comes quicker, the tiny beads growing and growing until gravity finally gets the best of them. I lay on my side on the bed, the satin bedspread cool and soft on my hot face, and watch the drops slide down my arm in a strange fascination. They're beautiful, really, crystal-clear rubies leaving silk ribbon trails behind them. I can see where the skin has separated, not a baby cut, but deep and painful. It'll leave a scar, I know. There's no chance in hell I'm going to go get stitches. I want to panic a little, but I'm too calm. The feeling and the sight always calms me. That's why I do it. I don't want to die. I want to vent.*  
  
Sleep is coming.   
  
~*~§~*~END~*~§~*~ 


End file.
